


Sherlock's Moving Castle

by Broadwaylover17



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Based on the book and the movie, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27013612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broadwaylover17/pseuds/Broadwaylover17
Summary: In the land of Ingary, there lived an infamous wizard who lived in a moving castle. And he changed the life of an ordinary young woman forever. This story is based on both the novel and the film adaptation of Howl's Moving Castle, integrating Sherlock characters into the story.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	1. In which Molly Hooper meets the infamous Mr. Sherlock Holmes…

Throughout the land of Ingary, little was known of the Wizard Sherlock Holmes. Except for this: he was a dangerous sort. One who could manipulate an unsuspecting man with his mind, bending the victim to his will. Or he could capture the heart of an innocent woman, devouring her very soul to keep himself young and beautiful. Mind you, these were all rumors. For no ordinary citizen had ever laid eyes on the mysterious Wizard. That was, of course, until the day Miss Molly Hooper encountered him. On that fateful May Day, her life changed forever…

* * *

“Molly!” exclaimed her mother as she adjusted her hat, its plumage vibrant and luxurious. “Don’t stay too long in the shop. Get out a little bit. You can’t stay cooped up here forever.”

Molly Hooper’s mother had a boisterous voice, to say the least. Anyone who heard it remembered it. On this particular day, her voice was quite grating to Molly’s ears. Nails on a chalkboard. A screeching whistle of a train. 

The young woman, with chestnut hair pulled back in a plait, gritted her teeth, and then eased after giving herself a moment to release her frustration. Though she loved her mother dearly, at times, Mrs. Hooper would be overbearing, and the repetitious nature of that behavior thinned Molly’s patience over the years. A slow inhalation gave her the will power to reply in a calm manner. “Yes, Mum,” she spoke softly. “Don’t worry about me. Go on and have fun.” 

“Love you, dear! See you later.” No sooner had her mother said this, the front door to the shop slammed shut. The pingy, faint ring of a bell resounded, indicating that Mrs. Hooper finally left.

Molly sighed with relief. She was alone, and she was content with that fact. Growing up in a bustling household with two younger sisters, solitude was a rarity, a precious gift. During those brief but blissful moments, young Miss Hooper would sequester herself in the family study and pour over the numerous books that her late father collected throughout his life. Her father, Mr. Thomas Hooper, lived a full and happy life in his short forty years. Memories of her father flooded Molly’s mind as she sat in the back of the shop. She recalled his musical laughter and brilliant smile or how he praised her on so many occasions.

_“Good golly, my Molly!” he said to her one evening. “You have a medical mind. Never thought that we'd have on in our family. Nothing but hatters, gardeners, and shopkeepers were the Hoopers. Until you came along.” His big hand reached down to tousle little Molly’s hair, making her giggle. “Don’t you give up on this, my girl. Do you hear me? You can do so much good for the world. I promise you! Just wait and see. Just you wait…”_

As Molly Hooper’s mind returned to the present, she soon realized that she had been crying. She quickly wiped her cheeks, ashamed of her tears even though no one saw them. “I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered. “Life had other plans for me.”

Life, unfortunately, did have other plans for Molly. After her father’s death, her mother was in a constant state of worry. “ _What will become of my girls?_ ” she’d cry out. “ _What are we going to do without you, Tom?_ ” Through Mrs. Hooper’s determination and persistence, she kept her husband’s hat shop open. She did so with the help of Molly and her two younger sisters, Mary and Lacey. Years passed and Molly realized that her dream of becoming a woman of medicine would have to remain a dream. Her mother needed her. Her sisters needed her. She couldn’t abandon them to go and study at university. She was the eldest after all. Molly had a responsibility, a duty to uphold. 

And so that’s what she did. Molly stayed in the shop, taking on an apprenticeship in the trade of hatmaking. _Hooper’s Hats_ became the most celebrated hat shop in all of Kingsbury (Ingary’s capital where the Hoopers resided), and Molly Hooper played a vital role in how it achieved that distinction. She constantly received praise from numerous customers. They noted her sweet, charming demeanor when assisting clients and her craftsmanship on the hats she made. Hats of all shapes and sizes, varying in color and style. She made hats of all kinds, from the plain and simple to the expensive and extravagant. 

The chime of a clock got her attention. “Half-past two already?” she said questioningly. “I got carried away with my thoughts, I guess. Oh well, I think I’ll head over to check on Lacey.” Her youngest sister, Lacey, was an absentminded sort of girl. Mrs. Hooper knew this well enough to send her off to Mrs. Fairfax’s bakery. There, she would be an apprentice, in a manner of speaking. What Lacey lacked in brains, she made up for in looks. Men throughout Kingsbury would turn and gawk at her as she strolled past them. Molly recalled her little sister receiving at least three proposals of marriage a week. It was enough to make one’s head spin. Such beauty does attract attention, and Mrs. Fairfax put Lacey front and center to draw in customers. Needless to say, her strategy worked. Within the first week of Lacey’s ‘apprenticeship,’ the bakery’s revenue doubled due to the influx of customers, and it was no surprise to Mrs. Fairfax or to anyone else that worked there that the majority of new customers were men. 

Molly jumped out of her chair and headed for the hat display closest to her. “Hmm, which one of you should I wear today?” she said to her hats. Molly liked to talk to her hats. She even gave them names that matched their personalities. Her eyes wandered over to the black hat with a large brim. “Not today, Agatha. I’m not going to a funeral.” Next, Molly spotted a brown hat with polka dots and peacock feathers. “Sorry, Cecilia. I don’t want people staring at me.” At last, her eyes locked onto a plain straw hat with a magenta-colored ribbon band. Blush colored pins kept the ribbon in place on the left side of the hat. The corners of her mouth slid upwards, forming a sweet, closed-lipped smile. “Sophie. You’re perfect for the occasion.” 

Miss Hooper grabbed the hat and pressed it firmly onto her head. She then tossed her apron over the chair where she had recently sat and smoothed out her gray dress. “Come along, Sophie! Let’s go visit my sister.” Her hand gave the door a push and she was finally out of the shop.

Molly strode along the pavement at an even tempo. She had to be on her guard at all times as she walked alone. Young women had an unfortunate habit of being preyed upon by men or other nasty sorts. Kingsbury could be a dangerous place if one took a wrong turn. Soldiers were scattered across the city, ‘protecting’ their citizens. The neighboring lands of Strangia and High Norland agreed to no more conflict so long as Ingary upheld its side of the deal. But, the king of Ingary trusted them as far as he could throw them.

As she made her way to Mrs. Fairfax’s bakery, joyous trumpets and a cacophony of voices could be heard close by. In the midst of the music-making and conversations buzzing, Molly heard a peculiar popping noise. “Those are confetti poppers,” she muttered to herself. “It’s May Day! I had forgotten.” 

May Day was a special time for the people of Ingary. The king hosted a festival in the town square each year, celebrating the beginning of May. May meant springtime was close at hand, and spring meant renewal and healing for the Ingarians.

When Molly turned a corner, she nearly collided with two Ingarian soldiers. One was a handsome man with bright blue eyes and silky blonde hair. The other was more homely. Coffee brown eyes that left much to be desired and wiry brown hair with a wiry brown mustache to match. Miss Hooper froze dead in her tracks. She didn’t know what to do. She had heard rumors of soldiers trying to take advantage of young ladies, but she never thought it could happen to her. Her cheeks flushed with shame. _How foolish of you!_ she thought to herself.

The more handsome man of the two moved his mouth to speak. “Well, well, well. What do we have here, Gerald? Looks like a little mouse that’s lost its way.” His voice was a perfect match with his beautiful face but there was a twinge of danger in it. 

“No, I’m not lost,” squeaked Molly as she clutched her hands to her chest, guarding herself from their prying eyes.

“This little mouse looks thirsty. Maybe we should take her out for tea,” he stated, his eyes were looking her up and down.

Molly gulped. “No thank you. My sister is expecting me,” she responded softly.

“And such a cute little mouse too. Don’t you think, Mike?” The other one spoke that time. The stench of his breath pervaded the air. It soon became clear to Molly that they had been drinking. “Don’t worry, little mouse. We can help you find your way to your sisters'.”

As they inched closer to her, Molly’s chest began to rise and fall faster. She was in danger and she was well aware of that fact. The problem was that she couldn’t think of a way to escape. “I’m fine, really. I can find my own way. Thank you,” she stated firmly.

“Come on, what’s the matter?” said the blonde one, closing in on Molly’s left side.

“Leave me alone!” exclaimed Miss Hooper forcefully as she backed away from the pair.

“There you are, sweetheart. Sorry I’m late. I was looking everywhere for you.” A new voice spoke and a warm hand gently placed itself on Molly’s shoulder. She let out a tiny gasp. The voice was rich and deep. That voice was unlike any sound she had ever heard. Hauntingly beautiful. Molly was in too much of a shock to glance at the mysterious man who came to her rescue. 

“Hey! We’re busy here,” shouted the blonde one.

The mysterious one spoke again in a calm and relaxed tone. “Oh really? I thought it looked like the two of you were just leaving.”

Out the corner of her eye, Molly saw an elegant, long finger swirling in the air. Then, the two men abruptly straightened in an erect position as if something took hold of them. Their movements were stiff as they turned round and walked down the alley side by side. 

The befuddled Miss Hooper blinked her eyes rapidly. She couldn’t believe what she had witnessed. _He enchanted them like they were puppets and he was the puppeteer!_

“Pathetic excuses for the male species, but don’t hold that against them. There are much more fouler creatures in these lands than them.” The man’s baritone voice tingled Molly all over. Slowly, she turned her head to finally lay eyes on her rescuer. Brown met ocean blue and young Miss Hooper melted. Her cheeks flushed bright pink and her heart rate accelerated. This man wasn’t just beautiful. He was majestic, an angel to behold.

Sharp, pronounced cheekbones that could cut like a knife. Sapphires, emeralds, and shards of gold danced in his eyes. His skin, a soft, porcelain hue. His hair, messy curls of a shade as dark as night. Brown or black, Molly couldn’t discern. But one thing was certain. She fancied him. One look and she was under his spell.

“Sherlock Holmes,” she whispered to herself, finally realizing who he was. 

“Now, where are you going this evening? I shall act as your escort.” The Wizard Sherlock asked her in a business-like manner, insinuating that it was an obligation. 

Molly Hooper took offense to his tone but didn’t dare address it. He was a wizard after all, and she feared that he would devour her soul if she spoke ill of him. Instead, the mousy woman uttered, “Oh, I’m- I’m just going to the bakery. To see my sister.”

Sherlock linked arms with her and muttered, “Come along then, and don’t be afraid if you see that I’m being followed.” Molly shuddered slightly from his voice. Oh, how that voice bewitched her in every possible way.

He led her further down the alleyway. The uneven pavement caused her to become unbalanced. One misstep made her sway into him. A jolt of electricity rushed through her body when she bumped against his side. He, however, remained unaffected. It was an awkward sort of stroll towards the bakery. Molly felt it more so than Sherlock. She pressed her lips together firmly and tried to keep up with his pace. His gait was much wider than hers considering he was much taller than she. 

_It’s like we’re a couple,_ she thought. _A very awkward couple indeed._

Step after step, turning corner after corner. The infamous wizard and the mousy woman progressed to the bakery. All the while, shadows haunted them. Nameless, faceless blobs drawing nearer and nearer. Molly felt Sherlock squeeze her arm tighter. “Sorry about this. Looks like you’re involved,” he murmured in her ear. “This way.”

With Sherlock’s lead, they dashed down the next backstreet, the dark figures looming behind them. They were gaining on them. Faster and faster the pair went. Towards the end of the street, Molly could see more repulsive creatures barreling towards them. Panic set in. Her stomach clenched, fear sneaking its way to her heart. 

“Hold on,” said Sherlock as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Then, a gust of air rushed beneath her feet, lifting her at least ten feet in the air. Molly clung onto Sherlock for dear life, afraid that she would soon fall to her death. The Wizard Sherlock, however, remained calm and collected, his eyes focusing on Molly. His lips curved into a sly smile, bemused by the quiet woman’s reaction to her first flight. 

“Easy does it,” he guided her. “Just straighten your legs, and...start walking.”

Miss Hooper did as Sherlock instructed and, miraculously, it worked! Feet cut through the air as one might do when walking in shallow water. Her fingers laced through his, and she dared to glance down. What a sight to behold! Below them, Molly could see the faint outlines of couples dancing in the town square. May Day’s festivities continued as they passed overhead. No one took notice of Sherlock or Molly. They passed over undetected. All the while, a soft laugh escaped Molly’s lips as she flew. The elation she felt in that moment overwhelmed her. 

“You’re a natural,” he complimented. There was a hint of surprise in his voice, but Molly took no notice of it. She was too immersed in the wonder of her surroundings. But the thrilling journey soon came to an end. Sherlock helped her land on the second story balcony of Mrs. Fairfax’s bakery. Her feet gracefully touched the ground. As light as a feather.

“I’ll draw their attention, but wait a bit before you head back outside.” Their hands finally parted as he spoke those reassuring words. 

His spell that enchanted her so was still steadfast. For she shyly replied with an ‘okay.’ A dazed expression fixed on her face as she gazed into those remarkable eyes of his. The jewels danced and fire sparked. “That’s my girl,” he said. And once those words were spoken, Sherlock flashed Molly a wink and lept off of the balcony balustrade.

Miss Hooper let out an audible gasp. She rushed over to the railing only to discover that Sherlock had disappeared. Like he was never there to begin with. She backed away in astonishment. “Is this a dream or reality?” she muttered. “Was that really the infamous wizard Sherlock Holmes or a figment of my imagination?”

At that moment, Molly couldn’t trust her eyes or her mind. She knew she lived in a world of witches and wizards, a realm of magic and danger. But she never dreamed of playing any significant role in that world. She was Miss Molly Hooper of _Hooper’s Hat Shop._ She was a plain, ordinary woman, destined to live a common, humdrum life. That was how it was supposed to be. But not anymore.

Sherlock Holmes had irrevocably changed her life in ways she couldn’t possibly imagine. 

An adventure had just begun...

  
  



	2. In which Molly encounters the Witch of the Waste...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and her young sister have a heart to heart and she then finds an unexpected guest in the hat shop...

After that unbelievable event had transpired, Molly was in a daze. A warm haze surrounded her wherever she went.

“Molly!” A familiar voice called out. Molly turned round to see a young woman with short, platinum blonde hair at the end of the hallway. 

“Lacey!” she exclaimed as she raced down the hall to embrace her dear sister. But, her eyes betrayed her. 

“It’s so wonderful to see you, sweet sister of mine, but I’m not Lacey. I’m Mary,” replied her younger sister.

Molly Hooper's eyes blinked rapidly and she looked closer at her sister's face. It was true! This was indeed her other sister, Mary. Her eyes were dark green, almost blue. Lacey's were distinctly hazel. “It is you, Mary! I’m so sorry. I’ve had quite an afternoon. I’m afraid I’m not quite myself."

“Nothing to fear, Molly,” said Mary as she took hold of her sister’s hands. “You're here, and that’s what matters! Come with me.” Her sister led her down the hall and into the bakery’s storage room. A huge assortment of flours, sugars, and spices packed onto shelves. They found a cozy spot in the corner of the room, and Molly regaled Mary with her thrilling tale of how she met Sherlock Holmes.

“Well, it’s a good thing you got away from him,” said Mary.

“He rescued me, Mary. True, he wasn’t very tactful in how he spoke. But he did me a kindness. I don’t know what would've happened to me if he hadn’t arrived when he did,” replied Molly, staring off into space. The memory of Sherlock’s touch made her feel very warm.

“He was trying to steal your heart!” declared her younger sister, attempting to knock some sense back into Molly. “You know that’s what he does. You need to be more careful. Even the Witch of the Waste is on the prowl. Ingary isn’t as safe as it once was.” Mary let out a heavy sigh. 

Molly shook her head, amused by her younger sister's protectiveness. Molly was the eldest. That was _her_ job! “Oh Mary, what would the Witch of the Waste want with _me_?”

“You spoke with the Wizard Sherlock! That’s enough to get her attention.” The younger Miss Hooper had a concerned expression fixed on her face. The eldest sister soon realized that Mary was being serious and dropped her amused smile in response.

“I’ll be fine, Mary. I promise,” said Molly, hoping to reassure her sister.

Mary’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Okay, well you need to think about yourself for a change. You can’t keep putting others first.”

As they continued their conversation, the sisters made their way down the stairs, heading toward the front entrance of the bakery. More time had passed than they thought, and closing time for the bakery was close at hand. Kingsbury was bathed in dark purplish hue, a crescent moon showing its face in the night sky.

“Alright, Mary. I’m going to head home.” She leaned in, wrapping her arms around her sister and giving her a tight squeeze.

“Think about what I said, Molly. Okay?” requested Mary with a smile.

“Okay,” replied Molly, humoring her sister. “Night, Mary.” 

Molly Hooper experienced an uneventful journey back to the hat shop. No leering eyes from lecherous soldiers and no unexpected wizards turned up. Instead, the streets were quiet; peaceful. Kingsbury was asleep, no more hustle and bustle as one would see during the day. 

A push of the door, a ring of the bell, and Molly found herself back in the store once again. She tossed off Sophie. The plain straw hat floated to the ground as Miss Hooper collapsed into the nearest armchair, her feet tired from a long day of walking.

As she was starting to settle in for the night, a faint, but familiar sound rang out. “Someone’s here? At this hour?” muttered Molly as she begrudgingly arose from her comfy chair and grabbed her dressing gown. 

When she entered the front room, a thin, but curvaceous woman was surveying the hats on display. Although her back was turned, Molly could see that she was impeccably dressed, a silk gown dye in lilac with a fur shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Beautiful brunette hair pinned up with an expensive-looking hat atop her head. 

Molly was at first apprehensive to approach the fair woman, fearful of addressing someone above her station. But this was her family’s place of business. She had every right to converse with a prospective customer. “Excuse me, ma’am, but the shop is closed,” she said as she walked closer.

With a turn of the head, the unexpected guest's face was now visible, and Molly finally got a better look at her client. The woman appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Oval eyes of emerald and lips red as blood. She was indeed a handsome woman. The blood-red lips parted as the lady responded, “Interesting. The mouse speaks and yet I remain unmoved.” A smirk crossed over the mocking mouth. The woman’s voice was quite fitting to her looks, velvety and sophisticated. “Your hats are tacky. Which is very unfortunate considering they’re well crafted. What a waste of potential! You are _indeed_ a waste of talent and space, Miss Molly Hooper.”

Molly gaped at the woman. Before she could reply, the woman continued. “Oh yes, I know exactly who you are. And to be frank, I don’t care for your competition or your attitude! You've captured the interest of the Wizard Sherlock, and I won’t stand for it. How could a magnificent creature, such as he, care for the likes of you?!”

The impertinence had become too much for Molly. “I think you should leave, _ma’am_.” She crossed the room to open the door, glaring at the rude woman as she went. “The door is this way.” Both statements were said in a forceful and defiant tone. 

“Such courage. No one has ever _dared_ to stand up to the Witch of the Waste! I came here to put a stop to Sherlock’s interest and that is precisely what I shall do!” The witch’s voice boomed and shook the shop. Hats fell from their hook and plates and glasses in the back dining room clinked and clanked.

Molly’s eyes widened in fear, realizing what she had done. “The Witch of the Waste?” she whispered. “That’s you?!”

A whip of the witch’s hand and all lights blew out. Pitch black darkness engulfed the room. The moon, the only source of light. The Witch of the Waste barreled into Molly Hooper. She shut her eyes tight and tried to evade the witch. But, instead of two bodies colliding, the witch’s body morphed and passed through Miss Hooper like she was a gust of wind. 

Miss Hooper opened her eyes and turned round to see the witch, as she was before, now standing at the front door, her hand on the knob. “The best part about the spell is that you can’t tell anyone about it. Give my regards to Sherlock Holmes!” A haunting laugh echoed in the room as the door slammed shut.

In the dark, Molly fumbled about. Eventually, she found a matchbox. The strike of a match sparked a young flame, the heat intense. Fire met wick and a lamp illuminated. As Molly placed the matchbox on the dresser, she noticed that her hands were more wrinkled and careworn than they were before. Her body trembled as she looked at them in horror. She brought her shriveled hands to her face. Where once she would feel soft and smooth skin, there was leathery and rough skin.

Molly Hooper had to look in a mirror to confirm her suspicions. And in that mirror, her reflection was that of a bony, whitehaired old woman...

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the story takes a turn...
> 
> This fic will take inspiration/plot points from both the novel and the film adaptation.
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Stay tuned for the next chapter 🥰


	3. In which Molly enters a castle…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly Hooper sets out on her journey to break the spell...

Molly stared into the mirror and an old crone stared back. Her skin was sallow and sunken, crows feet lined the corner of her eyes. Deep wrinkles traced her forehead and her mouth. 

“Stay calm, Molly,” she coached herself. “You have to stay calm.” 

As she attempted to take a seat, her bones cracked as she went. Aches riddled her body when she hobbled to the nearest chair. “Oof!” she exclaimed, sitting down at last.

So many questions ran through Molly’s mind. What did she do to deserve this curse? How can she break the spell? 

“Oh, if I ever see that witch again, the question won’t be what I’ll do to her. It’ll be what won’t I do to her!!” she declared aloud. Silence lingered for a moment as her jaw lacked, an idea popped into her head. “To break this curse, I need to find the Witch of the Waste. If she put the spell on me, then surely she can break it. I’ll make her break it!”

With newfound determination, Molly Hooper slowly arose from her chair and began packing basket for her journey. The kitchen only had some day-old bread and soft cheese. “Well, this will have to do, I guess.”

The old woman hobbled over to retrieve her fallen hat. “Come here, old girl.” Gingerly, Molly lowered herself, bones popping and cracking on the way down. “Alright, Sophie. I’m gonna need you for this journey.” Talking to the straw hat gave Molly some comfort in the midst of all this madness. 

A deep mauve shawl hanging in the corner of the room caught her attention. “It’ll be quite chilly up in the mountains of the Waste. I’ll need you as well.” When crossing the room to fetch it, a mirror on the wall once again reflected the visage of a careworn woman, at least eighty years of age. Molly Hooper flinched at the sight of her reflection. “Getting used to this will be harder than I thought.”

Molly wrapped the shawl around her frail body as she glanced at her counterpart in the mirror. “This isn’t so bad, Molly dear,” she said after taking a moment to reflect on her new appearance. “You look pretty good for your age! You still have all your teeth and hair. And now your clothes suit your age.” Mr. Hooper always encouraged his daughter to look for the silver lining in any situation. Only now did Molly realize how important her father’s advice would become. “I’m going to find the Witch of the Waste, dear father. And I  _ will  _ have the curse reversed!”

* * *

“Hello there, Mother!” greeted a dark brown-haired man, stepping outside his cottage. His face was long and his nose hooked. Molly Hooper journeyed only as far as the outskirts of Kingsbury, and already she inadvertently brought attention to herself. 

“Pardon me, but I don’t believe we’re acquainted. Nor are we related. I’m certainly not your mother,” she stated, narrowing her eyes inquisitively.

“True as that may be, ma’am, I say that in a manner of speaking, not literally. I was only meaning to ask, seeing you walk up the hill at the end of the day, if you wished to stay in my cottage for the night.” He cracked a gentle smile.

“That’s very kind of you,  _ son.  _ But I’ll have to decline your offer. I’m traveling into the Waste to seek my fortune.”

His eyes widened. “Ah! I see… Best be careful. The Wizard Sherlock Holmes and his repulsive excuse for a home lurk in the Waste. Some say he can read your innermost thoughts with just one look. A bit of a looney one if you ask me...Oh well, I wish you luck, Mother, provided that your fortune don’t have nothing to do with charming cattle!” The man then swiftly slammed the door to his cottage. 

Molly huffed bitterly. “That man thought I was a witch! The nerve of him…”

* * *

The wind whistled and howled as Molly Hooper hiked up the steep mountain. Her first steps into the Waste, a desolate, muggy land where even the bravest of men rarely venture. But, Molly didn’t give a hoot what laid ahead. She was going to find that witch, even if it would be the last thing she’d do.

“What I wouldn’t give for a cane?” she cried out. “I’ll never get there with these old, knobby legs.”

A few steps more up the mountain and a long, single branch protruding out from a thick bush caught her attention. “Looks like someone’s watching over me,” stated Molly with a smile. Her thin, wrinkled hands grasped it tightly, and she gave it a pull. Nothing. Another heave of her arms. Still, the branch did not budge. “Stubborn thing! You won’t get the best of me,” she declared.

Molly Hooper tugged and yanked with all her strength. Harder and harder, and she soon feared her back would give out. Until branch broke free, swinging upwards and nearly colliding with her face. Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked upon the branch, puzzled. It was no mere branch.

“A scarecrow?” she said, curious. 

And there was indeed a scarecrow that stood before her. Tattered gentleman’s clothes with gloves, a top hat to match, and a withered turnip for a head. “Your head is a turnip. I’ve always hated turnips, even as a child I would refuse to eat them. I think I’ll call you, Turnip Head.” Turnip Head maintained a cheery disposition with a bright smile painted on its face. 

What was most remarkable about this lively scarecrow was the fact that it was standing upright all by itself. “How are you standing on your own like that?” she asked Turnip Head.

As suspected, Turnip Head gave no reply, and Molly Hooper soon continued her hike up the mountain into the Waste.

Not long after she continued her journey, a peculiar noise could be heard behind her.

_ Boing! Boing! Boing! _

Molly turned round to see Turnip Head springing towards her.

“Umm, no thank you!” she shouted. “I’m sure you have other things to do besides following me around. Why don’t you go find a field and stand in it.”

With one last jump, Turnip Head landed in front of her, dropping a cane at her feet. The cane was in perfect condition. A brass handle and intricate carvings along the wooden shaft. It was curious as to how the unusual scarecrow discovered this walking stick, but Molly didn’t dwell on it. “Oh! Thank you kindly, Turnip Head.” 

She accepted the gift, lowering herself down to grasp her new cane. She huffed from the strenuous effort of standing back up. “Since you’ve been so helpful, why don’t you find a place for me to stay for the night? I’ll be forever grateful,” suggested Old Molly.

Turnip Head sprung into action and left her alone again. A cheeky grin spread across her face. “That should do it. I’ve become quite cunning in my old age.” She giggled.

* * *

The sky bled orange as the sun began to set, and Molly’s stomach growled ferociously. She chose a mossy rock for a chair and ate the cheese and bread she brought with her. The stale loaf was tough for her to chew, but she took great care with each bite in an effort to preserve her teeth. Thankfully, the cheese was softer. A mellow swiss that satiated her hunger. 

Light was fading into darkness, the orange sky morphed to purple. Molly knew she had to get going. Lingering for too long in one spot could dangerous, especially for an old, frail woman as she. 

IA dog’s howl spooked Molly as she arose. The howl was soon followed by a pained wail. She knew then and there that something had to be done. Molly’s tender heart couldn’t bear the thought of an animal in pain.

She followed the sound of the animal’s cries. Faint whimpers soon became resonant yowls, leading Molly to yet another shrubbery. This time, instead of a branch, the rear end of a wild dog could be seen. A mangy tail wagged fiercely. A vine evidently caught around one of its hind legs. Old Molly moved closer, and the dog abruptly turned and snapped at her. 

Molly recoiled. She feared dogs as a child, preferring cats for the calm and aloof demeanor, and her anxiety for canines had not waned over the years. “I’m trying to help you,” she declared while reaching into her basket. She tore off a piece of cheese. “Here.” Swiss cheese dropped to the ground, and the crazed animal began to munch on the treat. Stealthily, Molly unfurled the vine. 

Once the dog was freed, it leaped past Molly and dashed uphill and out of sight. “Well, that’s gratitude for you. I won’t be helping you next time, you mangy thing!” 

* * *

  
  


The wind grew stronger as night covered the Waste in darkness. Old Molly felt a gust blow through her, stinging her cheeks. She had to find a place to stay soon. “I won’t last for much longer out here.”

Not so much as a cave was in sight, and Molly worried that she would die from the bitter cold. But then, a familiar sound echoed in the distance.

_ Boing...Boing… _

“Turnip Head?” she whispered. 

As the scarecrow hopped over, Molly Hooper could hear the gnashing and grinding of wheels. Smog on the horizon, the clackity-clack of monstrous machinery approaching. Her eyes widened. “That’s Sherlock’s Moving Castle! That’s not what I meant when I asked for a place to stay!” she yelled at Turnip Head.

The giddy scarecrow leaped towards the rumbling, cranking castle, suggesting for Molly enter. Black smoke billowed out of the chimney stack and pipes. The gray woman had two choices, it seemed. Take her chances with the wolves and wind of the Waste or enter Sherlock’s castle. 

“Stop!” commanded Molly. The decision had been made, and there was no turning back now. The castle stopped in its tracks and lowered itself to the ground, revealing a narrow door as an entryway.

She hobbled towards the door, surprised by its obedience. Up the steps she went and placed a hand on the doorknob. 

“Here goes nothing.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done with the setup. Time for more Sherlolly interactions in the next chapter! 🥰
> 
> Thanks for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	4. In which Molly strikes a bargain and meets the elusive wizard…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly meets a fire demon and the wizard Sherlock Holmes...

Maple wood flooring covered in a thick layer of dust was below Molly Hooper’s feet. Through the darkness, the flicker of a strong but meager flame illuminated the room from a sizable stone hearth. She could see the fire dancing, weaving and bobbing, popping and crackling, almost like it was alive. Flames of ruby and citrine embracing one another, creating a most handsome hue. 

Jars containing all sorts of unusual ingredients lined the shelves on the walls. Cobwebs decorated the beamed ceiling, and Molly was careful to avoid them as she moved about the room. Not one table or counter was empty. What laid atop them, Molly was unsure, for the room was far too dark. 

“A modest dwelling for a wizard,” muttered Molly to herself. “Unbelievably filthy. But where are the half-eaten hearts I wonder…” She looked round and there were no hearts to be found. “Probably keeps them hidden in his bedroom,” she predicted. A sudden twinge in her back pained Molly. 

She spotted a chair close to the fireplace. “Well, it does no good just standing here and letting my joints stiffen.” Old Molly picked her away across the room and helped herself to the empty chair. Though the seat offered no cushion, she didn’t mind it one bit. The old woman managed to find a comfortable sitting position as she slowly shut her eyes and rested for a moment.

Warmth from the fire wrapped round Molly like a blanket. Soon her mind drifted off, lulling her to sleep. She dreamed of the tall, dark man she met in the alleyway. “Sherlock,” she whispered.

* * *

“I’m not going to lie to you, Lady. That’s one powerful curse you are under!” A gruff but excitable voice rang out, waking the old woman from her slumber. As she opened her eyes, Molly saw a face in the fire staring back at her. Flames that were once red and yellow were now flames of blue and green. Blue eyes and a green smile. “I know a lot about curses, and you’re going to have a tough time getting rid of that one.”

“The fire spoke?!” exclaimed Molly.

“Ah, I’m going to guess that you can’t talk about the curse either. What a pity.”

“You see right through me, strange fire creature, but who are you?” replied Molly, staring intently into the flame. 

The green mouth moved to speak. “I’m an extremely powerful fire demon named Calcifer!” he proclaimed loudly. The fire demon’s flames swelled, and sparks of a soft, pinkish hue drew forth from his mouth. 

“A fire demon! With your great power, perhaps you can break my cu-mhh,” suggested the old woman. Her mouth closed forcefully. _Damn this horrible curse! If I ever find that witch, I’ll wring her neck!_

“Maybe… and maybe not. If you can break the spell that Sherlock has on me, then I might be able to break the spell that’s on you.” Calcifer leaned over the closest log of wood.

Molly slumped back slightly in her chair and furrowed her brow. “If you’re a demon, how do I know if I can trust you? Do you promise to help me if I help you?”

“Eh, I don’t know, lady. Demons don’t make promises,” said Calcifer cavalierly.

Old Molly’s face dropped and her eyes shrunk. “What a pity. Then, no deal.”

The fire demon protested wildly, shouting about how the spell keeps him stuck in the castle and that Sherlock treats him like a slave. As the complaints piled up, Molly grew weary. She gradually closed her eyes. 

“Look, if you can find a way to break my spell, I could _easily_ break the curse that has befallen you!” 

“Wouldn’t Sherlock be suspicious?”

“That man can see through everyone and everything, but he’s not very good at understanding the nuances of human behavior. He won’t suspect a thing. I can assure you! Do we have an accord?”

Calcifer’s bargain was not very reassuring to Molly Hooper, but, given the circumstances, she would settle for a gamble. “All right,” she conceded. “It’s a deal.” Once those words were spoken, the careworn lady tilted her head down. Finally, she could get some rest.

* * *

There was a rapping at the door to Sherlock’s castle, awakening Molly Hooper abruptly. The taste of dust and ash lingered in her mouth, and the stiffness in her back and neck made it difficult to move. 

Pounding insisted, increasing in tempo and volume. Molly found the strength to sit up, cracks and pops sounded. She looked round the room, and there was not a soul to be found.

But then, footsteps bounded down the stairs, and Molly quickly pretended that she was still sleeping. She could hear the voice of a man say, ‘A woman? A very old woman. How did she get in here?’ as he passed her by.

The squeak of a door echoed in the room. Molly’s hearing was failing her, and she couldn’t discern what two men were discussing. She heard the sound of the door creaking shut and footsteps following soon after.

“And who might you be?” asked a voice. Molly Hooper opened her eyes to find a man looming over her. He had sad blue eyes and light blonde hair. He had a bemused expression fixed on his face as he awaited her answer.

Molly sat up straight and said, “I’m... I came by to seek the help of the wizard Sherlock Holmes. Who are you?”

The young man’s brows pulled close together in suspicion. “I’m John Watson. I’m Sherlock’s apprentice. He’s due back at some point today. Sherlock Holmes is a man of many talents, but he is the master of his schedule and he’s not keen on sharing the schedule with anyone.” Molly Hooper could have sworn she heard John Watson mutter ‘not even his closest friend it seems’ under his breath. “I suppose you could stay here if you’re willing to wait.”

Molly nodded. “Yes, I’d appreciate that. Thank you kindly! Oh, and my name is Molly... Old Molly.” 

After acknowledging her with a nod, John swiftly went back up the stairs, leaving Molly alone once more. In the daylight, the state of the castle was even more apparent. Grease stains on the pipes and ash and soot across the floor. Old Molly shook her head in disapproval.

The labels on the various jars and boxes sitting on a shelf caught her attention. Bold letters on each. She could see: **Eyes- for testing, Drying Powder, For Decay, Wolf’s Tooth.**

Though some women may have been disgusted by such things on display, Molly found it absolutely fascinating. “A wicked wizard who’s also a man of science? Interesting..very curious.”

As Molly continued to tour the castle’s ground floor, she took note of the door she had entered from. She could hear the hustle and bustle of chattering townsfolk coming from behind the door. As well as the rush of the sea. This piqued her interest, and she cautiously opened the door. Low and behold, there was a lively seaport town on the other side. This was no painting. People were walking about, some even greeted Molly as they passed by. Seagulls flew overhead and the salty smell of the ocean wafted through the air. 

Molly shut the door. “Impossible,” she breathed. “I don’t understand.” She spoke to the skull that was resting on the mantelpiece above the hearth. 

“His name is Billy, by the way. At least that’s what Sherlock calls him.” A familiar voice called out to her. Molly Hooper glanced to her left and to her right and found no one close by. John Watson was upstairs. So who could be speaking?

“Hey, Lady! Mind getting me a log? Down here!” She looked down at the fireplace and saw the dancing flames of blue and green and a face staring back at her. _So it wasn’t a dream,_ thought Molly. She reached down to retrieve a plank of wood and placed it down gently next to the fire demon. “Thank you! I thought I was a goner. Don’t forget about our bargain.” Calcifer gave her a wink.

“Ah, you’re still here.” John’s reappearance took Molly by surprise. “Sorry about that! Didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am..Um, would you like some breakfast?” 

Molly’s eyes lit up. She had forgotten how much time had passed since her last meal. “Yes!” she replied enthusiastically. 

“I’m afraid I can only offer you bread and cheese,” said John sadly.

“But there’s a basket of eggs right over there,” Molly said. “And I see some bacon. Oh! How about some tea too? Where’s your kettle?” 

“There isn’t one,” John said. “Sherlock’s the only one who can cook.”

Molly let out a tiny laugh. “Oh, don’t be silly. I can cook!” She reached for a large frying pan that was hanging on the closet wall.

“No, you don’t understand,” John persisted. “It’s Calcifer. He’ll only obey Sherlock. He won’t bend his head down for anyone else!”

“That’s right!” exclaimed Calcifer. “You can’t make me!” The fire demon spat out a flaming green tongue in childish defiance. 

But, Molly just shook her head with a slight smile and plopped some bacon slices onto the pan, and grabbed the basket of eggs. “Alright, Calcifer. It’s time to get to work and stop this nonsense. Bend your head. John and I want some breakfast, and we’ll have a hot meal without Sherlock Holmes’s help!”

“You can’t make ME!” reiterated the fire demon.

“Oh yes, I CAN!” Molly snapped back. “If you don’t, I’ll pour water on you. Or I can mention our bargain to Sherlock.”

“Oh, curses!” Begrudgingly, Calcifer bent his blue face forward. 

“Thank you!” said Molly happily as she slapped the heavy pan down onto the green ring of flames. 

“Here’s a curse for you. May all your bacon burn!” muffled Calcifer under the pan. Amidst the sizzling of the bacon, Molly failed to notice the door opening. “Don’t be silly. Now hold still. I want to break in some eggs.”

“Hiya, Sherlock. I see you returned in time for breakfast. I’d say that’s a first,” John said.

Molly turned round hastily and stared. A tall, young man (fairly younger than John) who wore an ornate blue and silver suit had just come in, resting his violin down in the corner by the door. He then ruffled his dark curly hair, and, with his mesmerizing eyes, he stared back at her. Those eyes were blue at first glance. Then, green. As Molly continued to stare, she could’ve sworn she saw flecks of gold sparkling in his eyes. _What manner of sorcery is this,_ questioned Molly as a warm and powerful sensation rushed over her body. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she could feel her heart beat faster. 

“Who the hell are you?” asked Sherlock. He straightened out his jacket and approached her as she turned back to continue cooking. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

Molly shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m a perfect stranger,” she lied firmly. 

“She says her name is Molly,” interjected John. “She came into the castle last night.”

Molly could feel Sherlock Holmes moving closer towards her. His scent had traces of lavender, thyme, and tobacco. The old woman tried to focus on the eggs and bacon, resisting the temptation to gaze upon the beautiful and wicked man that stood so close to her. “How did you manage to make Calcifer bend down?” he inquired.

“She bullied me!” said Calcifer in a woeful, muted voice from under the hot frying pan.

“Not many people can do that,” Sherlock said thoughtfully. He then gently pushed Molly aside, taking the pan into his hands. “Calcifer doesn’t like anyone else to cook on him but me.”

Sherlock Holmes took a moment to roll up his sleeves and ordered Molly to pass him two more slices of bacon and six eggs and to tell him why she came here.

His forwardness and lack of tact rendered her mute for a beat. She slowly passed the bacon to him. “I’m…” One look at the room gave her an idea. “I’m your new cleaning lady.” 

“Are you?” he challenged, cracking the eggs and toss the shells for Calcifer to munch on. “And who says you are?”

“ _I_ do,” said Molly firmly. “I can clean every inch of this place until it’s spotless. Don’t let my age fool you. And...I can help you with...whatever you need. If you wish it. Though I don’t think I help rid you of your wickedness!” 

“Sherlock’s not wicked,” John said.

“Yes I am,” Sherlock contradicted him. “You’ve failed to notice how wicked I’m being at the moment. We have a lot of work ahead of us, my friend.” He returned his attention back to Molly. “You want to be of use? Then set the table for breakfast.”

Sherlock Holmes was not making a great first impression though this was as Molly expected (considering the hideous rumours she heard over the years). She searched through the clutter and found enough forks, knives, and plates for her, John, and Sherlock (though the cleanliness of the utensils left much to be desired).

Once the eggs and bacon were ready, Sherlock promptly took his seat at the end of the table and spooned out a serving onto each plate. Just the sight of the food made Molly’s stomach rumble. The bacon was thick-cut and crispy; the eggs well cooked and runny (just how she liked them!). 

John took the next available chair and started eating. Molly looked on, disappointed. Nobody was kind enough to say thank you. She gritted her teeth and finally took a seat. Sherlock had not yet mentioned if she could stay as his cleaning lady. “I could stay for a month’s trial...if you’ll have me,” Molly offered.

Sherlock ignored the question and instead said, “Pass the bread, John.”

Molly wasn’t going to give up so easily. She tried again. “If I’m going to be clean this place for the next month, I’d like to see the rest of the castle.”

Sherlock and John stopped what they were doing and glanced at Molly. Then, they turned to look at each other and bursted out into a fit of laughter, making Molly feel perplexed and embarrassed.

_It seems like the great Sherlock Holmes doesn’t like answering questions._

“Tell her, John,” Sherlock said. “It’ll stop her pestering.”

John calmed himself before answering. “There isn’t any more of the castle. This is it. All of this and two bedrooms upstairs.”

“What?” exclaimed Molly.

Sherlock put down his fork and knife and turned to her. He took a deep breath. “I invented this castle along with Calcifer. His fire powers keep it running. The interior is designed just like my old home in Porthaven. I prefer the solitary life so I must impress everyone with my _wickedness,_ as you put it. Can’t have the King thinking too highly of me. I also happened to offend a powerful person last year. Don’t know why they were offended. Doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Anyways, I try to stay out of their way.” The wizard took another bite of his bacon. “I hope that clears everything up for you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish the rest of my breakfast.”

The wizard spoke so fast, and yet Molly caught every word. His voice. He spoke like a mad man. A mad genius in his own right. 

She let him finish breakfast in silence as she contemplated his words. It seemed like a peculiar way to avoid someone. Hiding away in a rusty castle.

A fist pounded at the door again. “It’s the Kingsbury door!” shouted Calcifer. Sherlock promptly excused himself from the table to answer it. Molly glanced over at John who didn’t seem to care about who might be at the door. She shrugged and continued eating her breakfast, poking at her eggs to pierce the yolk. 

“Stand by,” declared Sherlock as he turned the knob next to the door clockwise. The knob had a blob of paint on its four sides. At that moment, the green dab of paint was set at the bottom, but one turn of the knob and red took its place. 

Sherlock opened the door, revealing a well-groomed man, most likely a soldier. The man bowed stiffly as he spoke. “His Majesty the King gives his thanks to you, Sherlock Holmes, and sends payment of two-thousand pounds!” 

Before Molly got a glimpse of where in Kingsbury the door led to, Sherlock slammed it shut and crossed the room. “What was that all about? Who was at the door?” asked she.

“You ask a lot of questions,” stated Sherlock. He let out a heavy sigh. “If you must know, I’m known for doing the king a lot of favors. And this is how I receive payment.” He shook the hefty purse and headed up the stairs to the bathroom. “I need hot water, Calcifer!”

“So, is Sherlock letting me stay?” Molly asked John.

“If he is, you’ll never pin him down. He hates being pinned down to anything...or anyone.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated :)
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Back to writing! And reading "Howl's Moving Castle" inspired me to start this fic.
> 
> Hope you like it! Kudos and comments are always appreciated! 🥰


End file.
